


Freezing Fog

by flightinflame



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Bad Weather, Gen, Low Self-Esteem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame/pseuds/flightinflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a rooftop, Clint waits for a shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freezing Fog

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Angst, mentions of violence, low self-esteem

The air is misty tonight. It hangs thick from the sky, snatching vision from those on the streets below, obscuring them into simple shadows, indistinguishable, lost. Souls who have no idea that they are being watched, not knowing how close they dart to death.

Death is watching, patient, calm, his eyes focused on the tip of his arrow. He awaits the order, keeping it pointed at the shape that he knows is the target. He listens, and is still. Death is an observer, and he can stay for as long as is needed.

Death is also far colder than he wanted to be.  
"Coulson, can I get a blanket next time?" He muttered into the comm, shivering at the freezing fog.  
"Barton." There was an echo of the coldness of the air in Phil's reply. "Focus on the mission."  
"I'm focused. I just can't feel my extremities." There was a momentary pause, and then Clint smirked. "Any of my extremities. You want to help sir?"  
"Barton. Open channel."  
"That wasn't a no."  
"That's because, for some reason, I credit you with intelligence."

"You should stop wasting your time sir." That was Natasha, in position in the doorway of another building. She must have been freezing, but she was being quiet, and focused, and all the other things that she always got praised on reports for. Not that Clint was bitter. He was fine with the fact she got praised and he didn't, because she was better than him.

He shivered as that thought gnawed away into him. Natasha was the better agent. The rest of the team were superhumans, or at least ridiculously smart and rich, which was basically a superpower. He was just good with a bow and arrow. And with the air so cold his fingers were shaking slightly, and the fog thick enough that he couldn't see, he wasn't even that.

Clint tried to push those thoughts, that knowledge of his own inferiority, to one side, and to instead focus on what was happening right now. He was probably expected to provide another sharp quip over the radio, and so he complied. "Can we ask the next supervillain to choose something warmer? What about a desert? We should offer bursaries to supervillains who decide to operate somewhere where you don't get frostbite. Can you raise that at the next meeting Phil? I think we'd all really benefit from it." 

"Barton." Phil reprimanded, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. Clint could hear that slight crack in the severe tone, and started pushing, seeing how far he could get away with, expecting the answer to not be very far.

"If that works, we could organise a system. They won't stop doing bad things and trying to take over the world, but we could get them to stick to a rota, maybe get Saturdays and bank holidays off..." He rambled, and Natasha sighed softly. Phil was just letting him talk - he'd already realised that silence just existed in Clint's mind for him to fill it.

"We are not organising a supervillain rota..." Phil frowned, realising what he was saying. "Focus Barton."  
"But it's so much more fun to do anything other than sit here and shiver."  
"Focus." That word was harsh, and it snapped Clint back to what he was meant to be doing. For a moment or two, silence was in the air between them. Then finally, it was Phil who spoke.

"Still lined up Barton?"  
"Yes sir." He answered quickly, professional while on the job. "I can see his shape, and I've been following him throughout.”  
"Good." Phil answered. "Keep watching." 

Clint did so, trying to track his one shadow among many as people milled around.  
"Alright." He watched him moving, needing to know where he was, so he could work out what he was meant to be doing. He watched as Natasha's elegant silhouette moved towards the target, and how she sprung forwards suddenly to disarm him. 

"Go." Phil ordered, and several agents swarmed forwards, weapons out. Clint kept his gun aimed on the struggle, ready to take a shot if it was needed to help anyone. But soon it seemed under control, and they didn’t need him. He relaxed where he was for a few moments.

Then a gunshot rang out across the square. He looked back down, and saw the leader holding a gun, backing away. There was a figure curled up on the floor, and he knew instantly who it was. Natasha had been hit, not badly, but the point remained that the bastard had shot her in the leg.  
“Barton.” That was Phil, giving him permission.

He let the arrow ring out, and despite the low visibility it flew to its target, sinking into the man’s shoulder. The gun clattered to the floor, and the agents on the ground dealt with him. He watched as Natasha was helped up by Phil, waiting until the area was secured before climbing down.

The air was thick with chilled mist, but death had served his purpose. He might not have been the best agent, or a superhero, but he had kept better agents than himself safe today.


End file.
